Somehow I was involved in a progressive battle between a group of superheroes and some various bad guys, including Nazis. I was helping the superheroes. Our side had the Hulk, but I didn't recognize any of the others. One of our battles took place inside a big church. At one point, the pews disappeared and a giant circular hole opened up, sort of like that hole Luke fell down after getting his hand chopped off in The Empire Strikes Back. This wasn't a problem for my comrades, however. They could all fly (or jump, in the case of the Hulk) up and down it. But I had to steer clear.

(Note to the Reader: For the sake of authenticity, all dreams are transcribed directly from my dream journal. The writing is...shall we say...unpolished? Also, they make very little sense, but then I'm sure that'll be nothing new for this blog.)

I was placed under house arrest, along with about 30 other men and women. There were about 10 guards with us at all times. It was sort of like a reality show, but instead of one person leaving each week, one person was executed. We were all held in a big facility that had a huge dining hall with long wooden tables.

My friend and I were having lunch yesterday, and at some point he jokingly asked me if I'd be willing to kill an acquaintance of his for $1,000. A thousand dollars? I repeated, laughing. I don't think so. With something like murder, I explained, there's a whole spectrum of things to take into consideration. For one, I'd have to do tons of research, determine an appropriate method, and then carry off the deed itself without getting caught or implicating him. Not easy. Likely not cheap, either. Also, there's my personal squeamishness and my distate for violence, both of which would take a hefty sum of cash to overcome. A thousand dollars, indeed. I scoffed at the suggestion.

...at least in my dreams.

I had a dream the other night that I was good friends with John Leguizamo. I've always been an admirer of his, ever since To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, where he played a feisty Latin crossdresser. (Also, his role as Tybalt was the One Decent Thing about that Romeo + Juliet movie a few years back.) His stand-up routines are some of the funniest I've seen. So you'd imagine he'd be a difficult guy to entertain.

You'd be wrong. In my dream, we were watching late-night zombie movies and laughing riotously about them over a bowl of Doritos. I kept making satirical, Mystery Science Theater-type comments, which he found to be wildly entertaining. I don't remember any of the specific content, but it must have been some of the most hilarious ad libbing in the history of comedy. (Prehistoric comedy, of course, consisted mostly of one caveman luring another caveman into a tarpit with promises of tangy, tasty, piping-hot woolly mammoth ribs.)

The art in my office is terrible. I'm looking at a piece right now, and it's like a festival of mediocrity. It's all geometric shapes and muted colors, with bold stripes and wavy lines on the side to give it a sense of texture. It's the kind of design you might have seen on the $5 sweatshirt rack in the 80s. The one behind me is no better. More reds, maybe, and a hint of gold, with lots of intersecting half-circles. It reminds me just enough of a Chagall to piss me off.

Dream #1: I was dancing with Johnny Ramone in the desert. Don't know why, but I was. Then I saw this Japanese skateboarder doing Old School kickflips and grinds on a nearby railing. For some reason, he was wearing a t-shirt from the musical, CATS. He was really good, so I stopped dancing and went over to get his autograph. As he turned toward me, his eyes turned yellow and lasers shot out of them. It was kind of scary, so I left without getting an autograph.